The Dress - A Hetastuck GamzeeRussia Lemon
by Pineapple Circus
Summary: Ivan loses a bet to Gamzee and has to wear his April Fools' Day dress out to dinner. The location? McDonald's. Because McDonald's is romantic. With a minor appearance from everyone's favorite American. Well after dinner, things happen between our stoner and commie. No, Alfred is not involved. You get the picture. Rated M for a reason; like most of my lemons, contains Uke!Russia.


**Hello again lovely readers! So, I wrote a thing at 3am. Please don't hurt me. I've been wanting to write a thing involving the April Fools' Day dress for so long asdfghjkl. But I kinda got lazy near the end, oops.**

**Usual disclaimers, blah blah blah, I hope people are enjoying this as much as I am! ^^""**

**/whispers also, I couldn't resist throwing Alfred in there. I was laughing my ass off as I was writing and I am so not sorry.**

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><p>"...Are you sure about this, Gamzee?" Ivan inquired, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched the troll.<p>

"Suuure, bro, no worries!" Gamzee glanced over his shoulder, flashing the Russian his signature stoned grin as he tossed a couple liters of grape Faygo at him.

Ivan barely caught the large bottles, setting them down on the table. He was feeling less and less sure about this bet by the minute. He had bet the highblood that he could drink more than him in a minute. The loser had to wear the short, frilly yellow dress Ivan had worn for April Fools' Day out to dinner. The only problem was Ivan hadn't been planning on Faygo being the drink in question.

Ivan sighed. "Well, I'm just not so sure that drinking this much Faygo at a time is good for you, da?"

Gamzee shook his head, his grin widening as he sat down at the table across from Ivan. "Nah it's fine, I do this shit all the time. Quit tryin' to wriggle your way outta the bet, sugar daddy. Heh. Honk. You motherfuckin' ready yet?"

Figuring there was no getting out of this, Ivan nodded, bit his lip, and set the timer on his phone, sitting down as well.

Gamzee's spidery grey hands flew to his bottle, pulling it towards him and popping off the lid at a speed quite surprising considering his high state of mind. In seconds, he had brought it to his lips and was chugging away.

Ivan was advancing at a slower pace. Fumbling, he managed to waste at least twenty seconds trying to get the lid off; it was screwed on pretty tight. Once he had finally got the lid off, he glanced at the timer and panicked, hurriedly trying to down as much Faygo as possible. This backfired, however, and it ended with the Russian coughing and spluttering with the dark purple liquid dripping down his chin, having barely even drank enough to make a noticeable difference.

It was then that the timer's alarm went off, and Ivan looked up to be greeted by the sight of a very smug looking Gamzee with an empty Faygo bottle and his feet up on the table.

"You know what this means, bro," Gamzee chuckled.

Ivan huffed.

"Go on, go on!" The highblood took his feet off the table and proceeded to make shooing motions. "Getch'yo sweet ass in that motherfuckin' bedroom, boy!"

Blushing, the Russian scowled, turned on heel, and marched to their bedroom, head held high. If his manliness had to be stripped, then he might as well go about it with poise. After Ivan had left the room, Gamzee slithered after him, being sure not to be seen as he sat just outside the bedroom door, peering through the crack with a smirk.

Ivan combed through his closet, searching for the dress. He didn't even know where he had put it; he hadn't been intending to wear it again. Ever. But then again, he hadn't been intending to be the boyfriend—matesprit?—of a stoned alien juggalo either.

Eventually, Ivan found the dress, and laid it on the bed as he discarded his regular clothes. He was in the middle of this—his pants were around his ankles—when Gamzee suddenly burst through the door, causing Ivan to screech and jump out of his pants. "Bozhe moy! Don't do that!"

This earned him a gravelly laugh from the highblood. "Sorry, bro," he said, but the smirk that he wore showed just how 'sorry' Gamzee was. "I just thought of something to add to the bet. You've gotta wear these, too." He tossed a pair of lacy white women's panties at the Russian, who held them up between thumb and forefinger and squinted at them like they were some dead thing.

"...Nyet. You can't be serious."

"Serious as a motherfuckin' heart attack. Which, looked like you up and almost got one for a minute there."

Ivan stuck his tongue out at the troll. "Well if I did it's your fault, da? Now get out and let me change."

There was really no reason for Gamzee to leave; he'd seen Ivan bare plenty of times. But, for the sake of peace, he shrugged and did as the Russian said, going to flop on the sofa in the living room to wait.

After a few minutes, Ivan poked his head out of the bedroom door and looked down the hall at Gamzee, who was still sitting patiently on the couch. "Do I really have to do this?" he pleaded. "It's revealing and I am feeling very much uncomfortable."

"Hell to the motherfucking yeah you do!" was the automatic response. "Get out here babe, lemme look atch'ya!"

Cautiously, Ivan exited the bedroom and proceeded down the hall, stopping in front of Gamzee and avoiding the other male's eyes as he blushed a soviet crimson and tugged at the edge of his skirt.

Gamzee wolf-whistled his approval. "Niiiiicee. Now turn around," he commanded with a smirk, twirling his pointer finger in a roundabout motion. "Show me dat plump Russian ass."

Ivan did as he was told, scarf swaying as he did so. He made no special efforts to show off his hind side—he was too embarrassed for that—just stood there and let Gamzee look for himself. "Are we going to go to dinner, or are you just going to stare at my ass all evening, comrade?"

"Hold on, hold on," Gamzee said, leaning forward to give said ass a couple firm squeezes. "Honk honk." He laughed, much to Ivan's annoyance. "A'right, we can go now. Lemme just fix my motherfuckin' makeup first."

Gamzee disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes, coming back out afterwards. It boggled Ivan's mind that the juggalo would think to fix his makeup and not the feral mop that somehow passed for his hair. But anyway, the two then headed outside and proceeded to have an argument about who would drive. In the end, Ivan ended up driving, as Gamzee's driving skills were equivalent to that of a retarded kangaroo.

"Where are we going to dinner at?" Ivan asked as he pulled out of the driveway.

Gamzee shrugged. "I didn't make reservations anywhere or nothin'. I mean, we can go wherever the fuck you want baby, but the easiest option'd probably just be Mickey D's."

Ivan snorted. "Da, sure. McDonald's. Most romantic dinner location ever, Gamzee, brilliant plan."

"Well you got any better ideas?"

Ivan sighed. "No."

And thus, the couple drove to the nearest McDonald's. On the way, Gamzee blinked lazily. "Hey Vanya? Why don't they give ya the D at Mickey D's?"

Ivan glanced over at him, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't think I'd like to be fucked by a—" he almost said 'facepaint wearing freak', but realized in time who he was talking to. "Fast food restaurant mascot."

"Yeah, I guess you're probably right."

It wasn't too long before they arrived at the McDonald's, and they both unbuckled and got out. Ivan was beginning to have second thoughts. He didn't know if he would be able to do this or not. April Fools' Day had been quite enough public humiliation for the poor Russian.

Ivan's ideas didn't get a chance to take root though, because Gamzee was already pulling him inside. Inside it smelled delicious and greasy, like any respectable McDonald's should. Ivan sighed, looking around. Well, at least no one he knew was—Oh no. Not him. Ivan blinked, trying to convince himself his eyes were lying to him, but they weren't.

As Gamzee dragged the Russian up with him to the counter, an all too familiar laugh could be heard from the unlucky pair's cashier.

"Oh my god! Ivan? Nice dress, dude!" This comment just sent Alfred into more gales of laughter; the American was doubled over, almost crying into the cash register he was laughing so hard.

Ivan was not amused. "Nice career, Alfred," he retorted. "Now shut your worthless mouth and take our order before I smash your face."

Alfred raised his hands up in a defensive gesture. "You can't hit a guy with glasses. But what can I get ya?"

Gamzee, who had stayed quiet up until this point with his stupid grin gracing his grey lips, couldn't resist this opportunity. Snatching the glasses off Alfred's face, he proceeded to whack him with them and then throw them down on the counter like it was nothing before looking up at the menu. "Uhhh, shit," it was too embarrassing to say that he couldn't read human. "Gimme five of your finest pies. Extra sopor, please."

Alfred, who was rubbing his cheek where he had been hit and wiping the fingerprints off his glasses, scowled sullenly as he set them back on the bridge of his nose. "...Right. Five apple pies," he punched in the order. "Extra weird. And for you, commie diva?"

"I'm not a commie, and I lost a bet. And I guess I'll just have a couple chicken ranch wraps. And a mocha frappé."

"Tch. Okay, that'll be $15.62. It'll be out in a minute."

Ivan handed over the money and went to go sit down at a booth while Gamzee waited for the food. After a few minutes, the platter bearing troll found Ivan and sat down next to him, beginning to dig into his pies.

Ivan just sipped at his coffee quietly, looking out the window at the quickly fading light and ignoring how Gamzee made a pig of himself.

Once the highblood was finished, he belched and leaned back to put his feet up on the table. "Not sopor, but not bad. Honk." he commented with a grin, watching Ivan for a moment or two. "You a'right there, sugar daddy? Haven't even touched your wraps... Damn, that dress is hot."

Ivan blinked. "Hm? Oh, da, I'm fine," he said with a sigh. "I just wish we could've gone somewhere else. I forgot that _he _worked here. I hate him." Blinking, he blushed faintly at the last comment.

Gamzee nodded, slipping an arm around the Russian's shoulders. "Kismesissitude is tough, eh?"

"He's not my kismesis," Ivan replied shortly with a snort, having some idea of how troll relationships worked and what kismesissitude meant. "I just hate him, and he hates me. End of story."

Gamzee hummed, not really wanting to argue with him and instead pressing a kiss to the Russian's lips. "Forget about that motherfucker," he murmured against his lips with a grin as his fingers slipped down his shoulder to toy with the edge of the dress' sleeve. "Let's just think about you'n me."

"Gamzee, not here, bozhe moy-!" Ivan whispered, squirming a little. "It's indecent; people will see!"

"Man, I don't care," Gamzee whispered back huskily, his lips trailing away from Ivan's and over his jawbone as his hand went to rest on the other male's upper thigh. "Been starin' at that motherfuckin' dress all night, just waiting to rip it off ya."

"W-Well, you can wait a little longer, da?" Ivan tried to say in a firm voice, glad the McDonald's was fairly empty. "Come on, out to the car."

Gamzee groaned impatiently. "But bro... The lil' guy downstairs, he's twisting somethin' fierce... I'm so motherfuckin' ready, I gotta—"

"You've got to wait! I'm not getting fucked in a McDonald's booth where everyone can watch!" Ivan said, frowning a little and practically pushing Gamzee out of the booth. "Come on, let's go!"

Gamzee huffed, but didn't object anymore and pulled Ivan out the door, paying no mind to the trash that littered their table. Alfred could take care of that. In an almost frantic manner, he rushed to the car, fumbling with the keys and unlocking it before throwing said keys into the driver's seat and yanking open the backseat door. He threw the disorientated Ivan in and crawled on top of him, slamming the door shut behind him.

There wasn't much room in the back of the car, but Gamzee didn't mind. His bloodshot yellow eyes glowed in the dark, light from the parking lot glinting off his sharp teeth as his lips slowly moved aside in a hungry smile.

If Ivan didn't know any better, he'd be scared out of his wits by this point. But, since he knew the scary monster in the dark was his own beloved Gamzee, he wasn't, and instead just smiled back up at him.

Slowly, Gamzee slid a hand up Ivan's dress, caressing his chest.

Ivan whimpered under his touch. "What happened to... being in a hurry?"

Gamzee chuckled. "Well, I was, but now that I've got you where I want you I can slow down a bit," he said, playing with and pinching one of Ivan's nipples and lightly grinding against his lower half. This earned him a light moan from the Russian, accompanied by a squeak when his crotch was suddenly grabbed through the lacy panties' thin cloth.

Gamzee's hands knew exactly what to do. They knew every inch of Ivan's body; where to brush, where to stroke, where to pinch, where to grab and where to squeeze. And it worked like magic. Or, more accurately, like a miracle. It wasn't long before he had reduced the Russian to a hot, mewling mess beneath him, and Gamzee loved it. He drank it in, admiring his handiwork fondly before giving a nod.

Ivan knew that was his signal. He knew what Gamzee wanted next, and he was all too ready to obey like the shameless little slut the troll always seemed to make out of him. Shakily, he turned over and propped himself up on his elbows and knees, looking behind him and up at the highblood expectantly.

Grinning, Gamzee slid the panties down Ivan's thighs, dropped his own polka-dot sweats, gripped Ivan's love handles tightly and slowly pushed in. Gamzee let out a low moan that sizzled out into a hiss. It felt great to be inside Ivan again; so warm, so natural.

Ivan wished he could say that it felt as good on his end. On cue, tears welled up in the corners of his eyes and he bit back his noise. Of course Gamzee had forgotten lube... Again. And besides, even with the lube, Gamzee's writhing appendage never really felt completely natural inside him. It didn't feel _bad_ though. It progressively started to feel better once the initial pain had subsided until a wave of pleasure took over and washed over him.

"M-Move," he said.

Gamzee grunted his acknowledgement and began the thrusting motion. As usual, it was slow at first, and in no particular pattern. As this continued on, the pace quickened and the car rocked back and forth. Gamzee, sweat droplets rolling down his forehead and smearing his makeup, started throwing in random jabs in direction he knew the sweet spot was.

These earned him a couple yelps from Ivan, as well as the moaning that accompanied the normal thrusts. Before long, the familiar knot began to form.

After a few more thrusts, it happened. It was like winter in Siberia, and a giant grape Faygo bottle being shook up and opened. It dripped down Ivan's thighs, dirtying his panties and the back seat as Gamzee extracted himself from his lover.

The highblood then flopped on the clean opposite side of the backseat, pulling Ivan with him. "We can drive home in the morning," he said with a yawn.

Ivan didn't even want to argue at that point, nodding, closing his eyes, and nuzzling into the troll's chest.

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><p>— Epilogue —<p>

Early the next morning, Alfred whistled as he walked to work. The sun was rising, and there were almost no cars around. That's why it surprised him that there was a single, solitary car parked in the McDonald's parking lot where he worked. Curious, the American approached the vehicle and peered inside. What he saw inside, he would never be able to unsee.


End file.
